


The Compleat Beacon Hills Miscellany

by blcwriter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Everyone Is Alive, Explicit Language, Fourth Wall, Inspired By Tumblr, Meta, Multi, Spoilers for Season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:08:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all my tumblr ficlets-- various relationships.  Each chapter's headnotes will note for relationships & other relevant reading information, as well as include links back to the original post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grimoire (Reunion)

**Author's Note:**

> Ch. 1, Grimoire (Reunion) is Sterek, angst, and originally posted here, because the picture of Derek smiling is cute, but Stiles' expression was less than happy and it set my brain wandering about what could have him reacting that way.

Derek shows up at the school after the whole deal with the demons last night at the club and he’s got this smirk-sheepish-smile thing on his face that just screams _you know you’re going to forgive me, right baby_?

"No."

He can feel his mouth flatten as he pulls in the rest of the words he wants to say— now you show up, you didn’t answer one fucking call, now you’re here because I got kissed by a girl— because all of those things, as much as he wants to say them, they don’t matter. 

What matters is this. 

"No grimoire?"

Derek’s eyebrows fall, like he’s surprised that his stupid little charm face isn’t going to charm Stiles. 

"I, uh, found something else, though," he says, and Stiles— he has no patience for this. Derek promised when he left that he’d bring back that book, and now here he is, and not even a call that he was back— just last night’s surprise special-guest-rawr appearance.

"Does it tell me directly how to uproot the Nemeton or re-channel its magic or otherwise do something to stop this place from becoming a hellmouth?"

Derek’s smile fades, as Stiles just waits. And stares. And stares some more. At last, Derek sighs and shakes his head in defeat. “I don’t know where it is. I tried asking my mother, but she didn’t know either.”

His mother. His dead mother. His dead mother’s ghost. So he found something to bring her around, but not the grimoire.

"Great." He brushes past Derek and heads off toward the Jeep. He’s got to figure out how to break into Deaton’s with the half-assed shit he’s ordered from the internet, then— he’s pretty damned sure Deaton has the damned book, if Peter already doesn’t and isn’t just playing some long fucking game on them all.

"Stiles," Derek calls, then grabs Stiles by the arm. He looks shocked for a moment when Stiles grabs him by the shirt, pulls him in, and says, lowly, "Let me go or I’ll start screaming gay bashing right here, don’t think I won’t."

Derek’s blinking, still, hurt in his dumb sea green eyes as he backs off. ”But…”

Stiles shakes his head. Christ, he’d been stupid, thinking this was in any way a good fucking idea. Stiles had darkness instead of a heart and Derek had heart instead of a brain. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. ”You thought we’d have magical healing comfort sex after I found that family in Mexico for you and you’d take my v-card and then it’d be okay if you disappeared for almost three weeks and let me think you were dead, and then I found out you practically were and now I owe Deucalion a favor for bailing your asses out and turns out you never had any intention of helping me find that grimoire because you needed to ask your mother a question instead.” 

Derek’s mouth is a little bit open and… Stiles just doesn’t have time for this. He opens the door, clambers in, and rolls down the window, knowing Derek will hear the truth in his heartbeat, even if he won’t believe it right now. 

"And before you wonder, no, that’s not why I slept with you. I thought that you cared. But you’re just like everyone else. You just need something from me, it’s fine. Otherwise, I can go fuck myself. From now on, you know what? I think I will."

It’s a hand-crank on the window, so he satisfies himself with just pulling out of the lot and being happy his baby doesn’t crap out between shifting gears, but really. Derek Hale shows up at school and gives him that face?

What fucking evil girlfriend does he think Stiles is, to be placated before Stiles burns his house down, or sacrifices half of the town?

No fucking thank you.


	2. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Stilinski family feels of the angsty & worried kind based on this photoset from _Galvanize_ , season three. Some meta-fic on the Sheriff & Stiles relationship this season so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original post [ with angst-causing gifset here](http://lettersfromeleanorrigby.tumblr.com/post/74444612856/again-the-sheriffs-doubting-stiles-again#notes). THIS FAMILY.

Again, the sheriff’s doubting Stiles. Again. Doesn’t believe his son’s instincts. Doesn’t react. Doesn’t help even though, now, Stiles is asking. He didn’t believe Stiles when Stiles told him about Malia, but if Scott vouches for it, ok. And now he won’t take Stiles’ word (never mind that Stiles was right about Malia Tate, this supernatural shit is just freaky) because Stiles is relying on the not-fully-developed powers of a new banshee and the Sheriff’s experience of her is limited to Stiles’ years-long-crush and her wandering naked through the woods. 

Even though, if he’d noticed, if he’d listen because the door wasn’t closed he’d have seen that Stiles and Lydia were spending more time together in Stiles’ bedroom these days, and it was talking about school, and supernatural shit cases, and arguing about that wikipedia shit the Sheriff never could follow, and that girl did come to the house that night his son got beat up— and Scott? He didn’t, and Scott’s been less around than he used to, so… Agh. He doesn’t know what to think but he can’t explain prolonging the search (or reopening all the old cases) under the heading “The Banshee had a bad feeling” and doesn’t Stiles get it, damnit, that this is the real world and someone has to lie to make up some bullshit cover, and he’s got to move on? He’s starting to wish Stiles had kept lying— he doesn’t know if he’s coming or going these days, and Stiles’ hunches and assertions that he just knows (what— like Stiles is magic or something?) don’t get deputies where they need to be. Wherever that is. There are still crazy humans around, after all. Doesn’t Stiles get that?

And why does he keep hearing Stiles’ voice, back before all this shitshow went down? _Mom would have believed me._ Maybe she would’ve. But fact is, she’s dead, and he’s got to do what he can with the resources he’s got.


	3. ... and How to Raise Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A completely nonsensical ficlet if you don't go look at [the picture](http://lettersfromeleanorrigby.tumblr.com/post/74067871883/wastetheday-a-lot-covered-in-one-book#notes) posted by tumblr user wastetheday that prompted the fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just like the idea of Stiles becoming a best-selling niche supernatural author. IDK... the book seems like something he'd write.

 

Stiles and Kira get married, to everybody’s surprise. They start a book business under a pseud (they’re magic and reckless, but they are not stupid), writing down all the stuff they had to learn the hard way. Their first book is a little random, but there are lots of helpful tips and it’s really well-indexed, despite its being best classified as a magical miscellany.

The sex part is useful, though, and not just to humans. And the hellebore brew for defeating fairies is awesome, as is the meatloaf. There’s lots of internet wank about the “how to raise wolves” chapter, but then, everyone knows hunters are trolls. (There’s a spell for that, too.)


	4. Wait... why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coda to the scene in _Galvanize_ where Stiles asks Lydia to wait in the car-- some ruminations on her facial expressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lydia's [nod of decision](http://lettersfromeleanorrigby.tumblr.com/post/74169707604/thats-a-good-reason-acceptable-yes#notes) when Stiles doesn't ever think she can't fight makes me very, very happy for the both of them.
> 
> Expanded from the original post, with thanks to tumblr user jujuberry136, who was surprised Lydia didn't already have a taser and mace in color-coordinated ensembles.

_I've only got one bat,_ Stiles says, looking harried and holding it up in example, like someone has to get in there and he's pissed he didn't have more weaponry in the car.

That’s a good reason. Acceptable. Yes. Sensible, too. Not a knight in shining armor reason at all.

She’ll make him stop at the hardware store or the mall on the way back— but then again, doesn’t he have a tire iron in this thing?

A tire iron would work. 

After a moment of tapping her fingers on the door of the Jeep, she turns to the left, and in to the back of the Jeep. He's got to have a tool kit in here somewhere, she muses, as she tosses through the detritus and vows to make Allison get her a collapsible baton to fit in her purse or down the back of skirt-- something. Mace, maybe, or a taser, though Lydia could come up with werewolf-specific mace on her own and if she read the bestiary more she'd probably find a starter solution. She _ughs_ as she discards a crosse, a gym bag, a spell book, a jar of mountain ash, a flash drive, and ah-- there it is, a rusty tire iron. 

Perfect.

She hops out, closes her eyes, and listens inside herself for that feeling of death and wanting to scream until it ... refines is the only way to put it. Opening her eyes, she follows to where Stiles entered the building, iron tight in her grip, and heads toward where that feeling calls her.

Scott's screamed "No!" echoes through her even though she knows she's too far away, and she pushes into a run.


	5. Raving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written prior to the 1/27/14 episode, so completely speculative and based only on feelings generated by [gifs from promos](http://lettersfromeleanorrigby.tumblr.com/post/74067035835/raving-stiles-lydia-pg-13-she-should-be#notes) of Stiles dancing and Lydia judging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pink Wig's lipstick is smeared onto Stiles' cheek.

She should be horrified at the flailing. Except really, she’s not. Because he can see her _Stiles, oh my god face,_ and he doesn’t care. When she doesn’t come over, he shrugs and keeps dancing with Pink Wig, whose moves are equally horrid, and that— it has somehow become endearing, and when— when did that happen? When did this obnoxious little know-it-all, borerline-stalker, nonstop-talker who was breathing up her skirt for the valedictorian spot— when did he become someone whose shrug-off she cared about?

When did she go from annoyance and secondhand embarrassment because Stiles couldn’t be bothered to have any shame for himself to— wishing she didn’t care what anyone thought, and not giving a shit about someone else’s black-light lipstick smeared onto your cheek?

Pink Wig’s lipstick is smeared onto Stiles’ cheek. 

Right. 

Well. Stiles isn’t the only one who could throw his arms in the air like he just doesn't care. She can lose her mind on the dance floor too, goddamnit.

The bass thumps under her heels as she made her way onto the floor— and Stiles’ smile was wide— open, as his cool-sweaty hand closed on her wrist and he pulls her in between him and Pink Wig. 

"You’ve got something," she says, though he probably can’t hear her as she reachs up and thumbs off the lipstick, uncovering one of his moles.

"You’re something too," he mouths back— and throws his arms up around her with a grin.

Maybe she steps on Pink Wig’s instep behind her. It’s a crowded dance floor.


	6. The Compleat Guide to Practical Magical and Management of Supernatural Creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sterek, all sorts of couples, chosen families, alive Hales, meta, fourth wall what fanfiction fourth wall, and la la la SCREW YOU CANON.

_There’s a small town, nestled north of the everyday sun and the heat, north, among the mountains and woods— no one is really sure where it is any more, except that everyone knows it is magic, and sends magic, still, out into the world._

_Stories, as well._

_There are good stories, and bad ones. Wild ones, and sweet. Some can’t seem real, because while they’re the same people they meet in different lives, in different places, when really, everyone knows, the Keepers didn’t meet at the same age as children, much less in college, or as coworkers or in some coffee shop._

_No, magic brought them together._

_Everyone knows all the stories of how the Keepers first came together, and the first battles that tested their bonds, brought them together, apart, and together again until they all learned the one lesson not magic, but living, tells us: it matters not what form you come in, nor what words you say— it matters only if the actions you take work to protect the ones around you, for beneficent ends._

_The Keepers have taken many forms over the years. Wolves. Wailing women who could also cast fire. Shadowed women with fingers like knives. Walking dead who were dark, then redeemed, then dark again— that lesson one again, not so much of magic, but life— that we must all keep watch of our desires, lest they burn us alive, or someone else does it for us. Sleepers, and liars, who wake and tell truths that sound like untruth until everyone else is frozen by the harshness of real meaning, finally brought into light. Men who walk among trees, and who take the shape of the elements that whip through their leaves…_

"Dude, I’m sorry, but I just think this is really pretentious…" Stiles felt badly— the rest of the book was perfect, but the introduction. Just. Ooof. There was no way they could let this shit out onto the internet for people to use if this…

Derek arched an eyebrow, neither nodding agreement or disagreement as he looked over Stiles’ shoulder at the display on the laptop. 

"I thought you wanted everyone to write some part?" Lydia asked from where she sat on the couch. She managed to keep a straight face as she read along on her table.

Isaac finally snorted. “I was just trolling. I wrote a real intro.” An email popped up in Stiles’ inbox right then, and he opened it with his heart in his mouth, because who knew if Isaac would still be joking, and they were supposed to send it to the publisher today..

He read, the rest of the pack waiting, because of course they’d have a Christmas deadline. Crazy e-publishers. Still, they had to finish this first, before presents.

_There are Hellmouths all over, and multiple worlds. There are multiple versions of you. If you’re reading this book, you may have already met one, maybe more. There is magic and there are (many) monsters all around us. Inside us, too. Some of that magic is real, but some of it comes from mere kindness. And some of those monsters can only be fought by what’s in this book— but the rest of them are just human. If you are dealing with human monsters, you may still find some help in this book, and you may still find some help if you consult with its authors. But before you resort to the decision that some problem you have is a monster that needs to be killed, ask yourself two questions— Do you have to kill the monster? There are many traps and bindings inside. Second, did the monster have any other choice but to become what they were?_

_Good luck. May you find lots of help, whether they be winged, fanged, or merely human and ultimately wise enough to know what’s really a monster, to help you make those decisions wisely._

Stiles sighed, and cut and pasted the new introduction into the Google Doc, right before the title page. 

The Compleat Guide to Practical Magic and Management of Supernatural Beings, it read, in a gothic-style font.

Kind of a dorky title, but anyone looking for something like it online would 1) get the joke and otherwise 2) think it was a D & D kind of thing.

Closing his eyes, he drew in a breath.

Warmth enclosed his shoulder, and Derek leaned over and hit Share. ”Come on. I want eggnog.”

"Please tell me you got soynog," Cora called.

"That shit’s disgusting," Erica called. She was just as snarky in revived life as she’d ever been. She and Cora and Boyd got along like, well. Stiles didn’t want to think about it too hard. He just was glad he’d put "Resurrection, the Right Way," into the book.

Laura had washed her hands of all the publishing angst, and was out in the kitchen. When they trooped in, she was just setting a huge bundt cake on the table. ”Happy Birthday, baby bro,” she grinned, then pulled Derek into a noogie he didn’t resist. ”My own little werewolf Jesus,” she cooed. 

Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles from under Laura’s armpit, like he was saying “Are you sure you had to resuscitate her?” but with everyone gathered around the table, Jackson and Lydia bitching at one another, Danny and Isaac holding hands and being all-around saps, and Scott and Allison, well, Stiles still got TMI, thanks, even if he gave it right back now that he and Derek had finally moved in together and could christen every room in the house, he thought of that one bit in Isaac’s faux fairy-tale intro and thought— yeah. Living would teach you it was actions that mattered, and the pile of presents from everyone to everyone else under the tree, and their presence all here? That was what was most true.

"Are we too late for cake and bacon?" The sheriff called, as he and Melissa let themselves in. 

Danny and Isaac jumped up and grabbed two more chairs, as Laura cut more cake and Scott piled up some plates from his end of the table.

Yeah. This group was a bunch of Keepers. Maybe he’d tweak that intro. Right after breakfast.


End file.
